


Indigo's Nightmare

by wheel_pen



Series: Indigo [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-19 06:56:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4736957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Slave Indigo has a bad dream, but his master Sherlock is there to comfort him. If by ‘comfort’ you mean startle and annoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Indigo's Nightmare

**Author's Note:**

> The bad words are censored. That’s just how I do things.  
> Inherent in slavery and other forms of subjugation are dubious consent, unhealthy relationships, and violence.  
> This story has not been Britpicked. Please let me know if I get anything horribly wrong.  
> I hope you enjoy this AU. I own nothing and appreciate the chance to play in this universe.

He knew he was asleep. Or at least, he suspected it, because things didn’t quite make sense, and nothing he did seemed to affect anything. He tried shouting, screaming, but no sound emerged from his mouth—it was like he couldn’t put any breath behind it. He tried moving, thrashing his limbs, but no matter how he fought it was like moving through treacle, and the moment he lost concentration he slid back to a standstill. Classic dream behavior, really, the body being mostly paralyzed during sleep to prevent acting out one’s dreams. Which meant he just had to lie there and watch the attack come, and he couldn’t warn anyone or help anyone, or do any bloody thing at all.

Just like it had really happened.

There was an explosion of white near him—white light blinding him, white noise deafening him, white-hot pain searing through his shoulder. _Wake up, wake up, wake up_ , he thought desperately, and then he opened his eyes with a sudden intake of breath. His room, his bed, and standing over him, a tall figure with huge black hands, giant bug eyes, and a bulky white body. Indigo gasped and jerked away, and then the light snapped on.

The bug-eyed creature didn’t go away, though. But it did say his name in a rather familiar voice.

“ _Sherlock_?!” Indigo sputtered. “What the f—k are you doing?!” Sometimes when he was agitated he forgot to be subservient.

Sherlock pushed the goggles on top of his head, but seemed comfortable leaving the white lab coat and enormous black rubber gloves in place. “I’ve been smelting,” he responded, more or less randomly from Indigo’s point of view.

“What?” Indigo panted, still trying to calm his racing heart.

“Smelting,” Sherlock repeated helpfully. “But I came up to check on you. What’s wrong? You’re not getting the flu, are you?” He reached one oversized black hand towards Indigo as if he would check his temperature with it.

“No,” Indigo denied sharply. He felt cool now and realized he’d been sweating. He tried to move in the bed and pain shot through his leg, too sudden and stinging to conceal.

“What’s wrong?” Sherlock repeated intrusively. “Does your leg hurt?”

“Not at bloody all,” Indigo snapped. Sherlock raised an eyebrow and, despite his ridiculous appearance, managed to remind Indigo of their relative social positions, and that he was not infinitely tolerant. “Sorry,” Indigo ground out. He took a deep breath and tried to relax the tense muscles in his leg. “I’m sorry, I had a bad dream, and sometimes that makes my leg hurt.”

“Oh.” Sherlock frowned and plopped down on the edge of the bed, making Indigo wince. “Your leg, that I cured?” He seemed personally affronted by this.

“Yes, it’s only temporary,” Indigo assured him through slightly gritted teeth. “It happens sometimes when I have a bad dream.”

“Yes, I’m clear on that point,” Sherlock informed him. “Nightmares about your moment of injury trigger a relapse of your psychosomatic pain.”

“Quite.” Indigo waited a beat. “Was there something else you wanted?” he asked, trying to force civility into his tone.

“What are you doing up here?” Sherlock asked conversationally, glancing around as though he couldn’t imagine the attraction.

“It’s my room.” _So_? said Sherlock’s look. “I was sleeping.” Indigo closed his eyes as he experimentally stretched out his leg, relieved to realize the pain was starting to recede.

“You were sleeping downstairs before,” Sherlock noted.

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you _stay_ downstairs?”

Someone else would be asking these questions rhetorically. Not Sherlock. “That’s _your_ room.”

“You can sleep there, I don’t mind.”

“Thank you.” Indigo tried to make this sincere. He saw from Sherlock’s expression that he’d failed.

“We had sex in my room, you fell asleep there,” Sherlock recapped. “Then you woke up and relocated here to continue sleeping. I wish to know why.” There were not many people who could say this while wearing goggles and enormous gloves, and still be taken seriously.

Feeling a little better overall Indigo scooted down more in the bed, under the blankets. “Well, I woke up in your room, and you were doing something noisy and smelly in the kitchen,” Indigo pointed out.

“Smelting.”

“Most likely. So I came up here to continue sleeping,” Indigo concluded. “To my room, where there are generally not bug-eyed monsters looming over me as I sleep.”

It took Sherlock a moment to get this. Until then he no doubt found Indigo quite mad. “Oh, I heard you shouting,” Sherlock revealed, and Indigo went pale. “That’s why I came up. Are you going to be sick?” he added in concern.

“No, sorry—I just didn’t realize I shouted,” Indigo confessed. That somehow seemed much more serious than just a bad dream with psychosomatic pain.

“Well, you didn’t have to shout that loud, the walls are thin and I was at a quiet point,” Sherlock replied, and the fact that _Sherlock_ was attempting to comfort him seemed the worst of all.

“Sorry,” Indigo repeated, lamely.

Sherlock stared at him as if making an assessment. “Well, come back down and sleep in my room,” he instructed. “I’m done smelting for tonight. Might be a bit chilly though, I’ve got the windows open to vent noxious fumes.”

“You do make it sound appealing.”

Sherlock recognized this as sarcasm. “Come sleep in my bed and I will also attempt to sleep there,” he continued. “That should prevent further nightmares.”

Indigo blinked at him in confusion. “Which part? The noxious fumes…?”

“No, _me_ ,” Sherlock clarified, obviously thinking he shouldn’t have to.

Indigo found this unexpectedly sweet, but useless. “Thanks, but it doesn’t really work like that.” Sherlock frowned at him. “I mean, having another person there doesn’t prevent bad dreams. Thanks, though, I appreciate—“

“You’ve never had a nightmare when I was sleeping in the bed with you,” Sherlock interrupted. He seemed extremely positive on this point. Indigo wondered if he kept a log. “You have them only when you are sleeping on your own, though not exclusively in this room. You’ve had them when alone in my bed and on the couch.” Definitely a log.

“Correlation does not prove causation,” Indigo replied smartly, thinking Sherlock would appreciate the logic.

He didn’t. “Outside of a laboratory they are nearly always the same,” he judged, standing. “Come on.” He held out a thick black hand to Indigo, who glanced between him and it.

“Can you take that off, then?” he requested.

“Oh. I suppose.” Sherlock neatly divested himself of the gloves, goggles, and lab coat, draping them over his arm. “Better?”

“Yeah, much.” Stiffly Indigo got out of bed, still limping slightly as he followed Sherlock out the door. “What time is it?” he yawned.

“Five-eleven AM,” Sherlock declared precisely. “I can spare approximately one hour attempting to sleep beside you. Perhaps forty-five minutes.”

“That’s nice of you. How much sleep have you gotten tonight?” Indigo inquired as they went down the stairs.

“I’ve told you, I don’t require nearly as much sleep as you seem to,” Sherlock asserted. “Three hours is more than sufficient.”

“Three hours, well.” The kitchen _was_ chilly, _and_ noxious. “I will try to keep that in mind,” Indigo promised.


End file.
